


Snowflakes and Failures

by bloomingcnidarians



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Injury, Near Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/pseuds/bloomingcnidarians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After bringing down the mountain on Haven to stop Corypheus, Aoibheann struggles through the snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflakes and Failures

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the magnificent [tarysande](http://tarysande.tumblr.com) and [w0rdinista](http://w0rdinista.tumblr.com) for the comments and suggestions.

Aoibheann braced her hand against the stone of the cave wall and leaned her body against its steadying support. She pulled her eyes away from the ground, where she’d so carefully watched her step, sure any crack would take her into a fall she might not rise from. Exhaustion beat in every nerve of her body; her depleted magic left an acrid taste in her mouth, bubbling up from a cramping, empty stomach. 

Beyond the mount of the cave, wind whipped the snow into a torrent, the gale so thick she couldn’t see far beyond the old wooden planks leading out into the mountain side. 

Aoibheann pushed her hand harder against the stone, the rough texture pressing through the torn material of her glove and focused on the bite of stone against her exposed fingertips. _More pain_. She grimaced, but pain kept the exhaustion at bay, however temporarily. _Keep moving. You can’t fail. Come on, Avy, you have to keep going._ She levered herself away from the wall and stepped out into the swirling wind. Stepping off the wooden platform, she sank almost knee deep into a snow drift. The sudden drop threw her off balance and the jarring impact of her foot finding solid ground sent shivers of pain through her limbs. The thick snow cushioned her legs and steadied her as she struggled to regain her balance. She righted her body slowly, the telltale ache of another strained muscle beginning in her back; the wind tugging bits of her snow and sweat-soaked hair from her braid to lash across her face. Pulling from reserves she thought long exhausted, she began to drag herself through the snow.

_Where did they go? Which direction had that hidden pathway led?_ She moved without pausing, knowing that turning around would be better than stopping. Stopping meant having to start again and she wasn’t sure that was something she was capable of. She should have asked—asked Cullen, asked Roderick, asked that strange boy with the giant hat. But she hadn’t anticipated surviving the dragon, so what would have been the point? 

She closed her eyes briefly, the lids like rough hide, their moisture stolen by the icy air. She pictured the flare as it arched against the night sky, tried to remember the landscape—

_I will not suffer even an unknowing rival._

That thing’s— _Corypheus_ —voice slammed through her memory, nearly taking her to her knees. She wrenched her eyes open, searching for that massive figure, trying to see his twisted body through the darkness. Only eddies of snow met her searching gaze, only cold winds and the bitter ache in her bones and the loneliness that surrounded her as thick as the falling flakes. 

More memories shoved through her exhaustion, unlocked as more than just _survive, survive, survive_ repeated through her head.

Even with her eyes pulled wide open, she could see his figure moving towards her, could feel the heat of the flames that had surrounded them at Haven. The same rush of fear she’d felt surrounded by monstrous figure and looming dragon pulsed though her again, a spike of adrenaline warming her muscles and quickening her pace.

_Whatever you are, I’m not afraid._

A front, a mask, a defense against the words he’d hurled against her. _Pretender_. And he’d known, seen past her posturing and stripped her bare of her defenses.

_Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. They are always lies._

Aoibheann stumbled, legs trembling as battle fatigue warred with adrenaline borne on the tide of memory. She clutched at her arm, the ache in her shoulder an echo of the burn of sinew stretching taunt as he’d held her aloft. Funny that she should remember now how her coat had swung gently back and forth with the movement of her pendulum body, how his spiny hand had torn a small hole in her sleeve, how the sweet smell of burning pine had masked the putrid smell of scorched flesh. His words had been his singular focus as he’d breathed threats and insults across her face.

The snow around her legs was thick, seeming to push against her as she trudged onward. Shivers wracked her body, igniting overworked muscles and she wished desperately for warmth but her magic was still too drained to be of use. 

_I have seen the throne of the gods and it was empty._

The memory of pain blossomed in her back, dampened immediately by her desperation. The feel of the sword hilt ghosted across her palm, and, even as that creature advanced on her, the bubbling, hysterical laughter had threatened to spill free and she’d lifted the sword to defend herself. What a sight she must have been: a _mage_ , attempting to defend herself with heavy steel. Frantically, she’d combed her memory for a scrap of something useful—she’d watched Cullen instructing his troops often enough that surely something must have stayed with her—his admonitions, correcting their grip on the hilt and how to slash downward against the practice dummies. 

But it hadn’t mattered. _It hadn’t mattered._ A plan hastily formed, one last charade of bravery, a cut with the sword against the handle of the trebuchet and she’d been running. _Escaping_.

But as she’d fallen into the tunnel, her body flung against snow and stone, the dragon had lifted Corypheus away. Swept up in wings of safety instead of swept away beneath crushing snow. 

She had failed.

The thought struck her like a physical blow: her knees gave way beneath her and she collapsed into the snow.

_Failure, failure, failure_ , a far-off voice chanted. But it was not Corypheus’ voice. Her own voice taunted her, lips forming the words over and over against her volition. _You failed_ again. _Just like always._

She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated violently on pushing herself to her feet again, to keep moving, to—her boot slid on ice-slick rock and she crashed to the ground again. Her knee struck the ground hard, her agonized cry following a sickening crack. 

_You failed your family when your magic appeared, failed to become the heir they had been grooming you for, failed to live up to any of their expectations. Perpetually failed to live up to your mother’s expectations. Couldn’t even keep your fingernails clean for the visit with the Danell family._

Ignoring the pain, she pushed her hands forward, gripping rock, and began to pull her body forwards. The flesh of her fingers, bare through her torn glove, sliced against the stone with each flexing pull. Her fingernails cracked and ripped away, the sight of red smearing the ground pushing her harder. 

_You almost failed your Harrowing—weak to the lure of acceptance and love, however false._

Healing magic had never been her strong suit— _another failure_ —but she knew enough to recognize the feeling of blood leaking around her organs, escaping into cavities and crevices from torn blood vessels.

_You failed the Inquisition. Barely a member and you cause its downfall. Everyone is certainly dead. Lived long enough to send that flair but Corypheus—who you_ failed _to kill—surely found them and he likely destroyed them all. Now you’ll never find out if that templar can really trust mages, or hear the stories of the Champion, or find out what happened to Cassandra’s brother._

Clouds wrapped around her mind, floating her mental capacities away as her blood fled south to pool around her stomach, her lungs. The grip of her fingers on the rock below loosened, the muscles of her fingers no longer obeying, their strength weakening.

_It’s your fault they died. Your failures._

Her breath seized in her throat and her tears froze, burning in icy profusion, against her cheeks. _No, no, no, no. It’s not true. It’s not—_

She rolled her head upwards, desperate to silence the voice in her head, and her eyes arrested on a shape not too far from her, slightly obscured by her tears and cloudy darkness that pressed around the outside of her vision. 

A campfire. It didn’t look old…as she pushed herself to her knees, she shoved her thoughts away. Her feet slid precariously underneath her as she put weight on torn muscle and fragile bone to rise to her feet. As she approached she could see embers, still glowing faintly in the dark night. She moved forward, stumbling, cursing through cracked and bleeding lips in a torrent that would have earned her a slap from her mother, towards what she was sure was the flickering reflection of camp light against the stone of the mountain around her. As the reflection grew stronger, each step she took grew weaker. Blood marked her steps and Oh, Maker, was she really going to die a few steps from safety? The blended laughter of Corypheus, her mother, the other mages from her Circle, the templar that had taunted her with her phylactery, pulsed in her ears.

As _There! It’s her!_ from an already familiar voice reached her, the last of her strength left her and she fell forward into a strong grip and enveloping fur.


End file.
